Exposed
by klane94
Summary: A collaborative work with LAliceS. Each of the Avengers had troubled pasts; most had family issues, trust issues. It was hard to build a strong team on lack of trust, let alone a team that was supposed to protect the world. Dr. Asher had to make sure that this team was stable; to make sure their destructive behaviors were limited to evil and aliens and not their own psyche.
1. Chapter 1

Exposed

**A/N: Hi, I am kat :)! This is a my first fic... ever and it was written with the help of a dear friend LAliceS. It contains an OC named Dr. Andrea Blythe Asher, please give it a fighting chance; a lot of effort, passion, and time was put into this and there is still more to come!**

**R/R Please and Thank You!**

Chapter 1

xXx

No. Not again. The metal demon bears its' jagged teeth, lets out a shrill screech, and proceeds to tear into her body, ripping her flesh like delicate cloth. White hot with pain, each attack left bits of the serrated teeth in her body. She thrashes at it, even begs and pleads for it all to stop. Blood sputters from her mouth and her chest heaves for air as her lungs fill with scarlet fluid. She needs to get the liquid out, release the pressure. She desperately grasps at the many twisted shards that protrude from punctured organs. She pulls frantically at the foreign bits and pieces, but only makes the wounds deeper. The thick liquid only pumps out of her body faster. She tries to claw her way out but there is no escape. She realizes where she is now, as her cold hole-ridden body slowly loses feeling. She lay there in a heap of contorted metal, the remnants of a car.

Who had been in the car with her? Her sleepy eyes scan the twisted metal for signs of her parents. Their names pass through her scarlet-stained lips in a shaky breath. Now that the searing pain is gone, she realizes that dying isn't too terrible. The cool calming shadows pull her into the dark, wrapping around her until she is almost swallowed whole. Struggling to draw in her last breath against the weight of death that anchors her to the pavement, she gives in to the shadows, and her eyes flutter shut. It's similar to dreaming, floating even she feels weightless, until she is awoken by an animistic roar.

The muscles in her throat constricted the passage of air, throwing her into a fit of dry heaving. As she gasped for breath, Andrea quickly realized that the blood no longer threatened to drown her. Her head throbbed as her eyes adjusted surroundings in the dark. Just enough light leaked in through the curtains, allowing her to make out the furniture of her one-bedroom apartment. She was no longer on the pavement, no longer slipping into the shadows. She was alive. This is further confirmed when she pulled at her over-sized shirt finding that she is soaked in sweat instead of the sticky sanguine fluid that covered her minutes ago in her nightmare.

The clock that sat next to her bed read 4 A.M. Andy had a meeting with SHEILD at 8, but there really was no use trying to go back to sleep, especially when the metal demon was lurking in the recesses of her mind. She climbed out of bed and wiped the sleep from her eyes as she shuffled toward the tiny household's modest bathroom. She removed the drenched night shirt from her back. Stopping only after she had disposed of all the clothing that clung to her figure.

The mirror caught her eye and a familiar face looked back at her. Her eyes surveyed the expanse of skin before her. Only a trained eye could see the thin spindly scars that marked her body, the wounds healed cleanly for being so destructively put there. She traced each faded imperfection with the tip of her pointer finger lightly, imagining them melting into her skin, like her digit could somehow erase each flaw. She hesitated when she came to the longest scar that marred her flesh. It started just above her left hip bone and reached up to the patch of skin that rested above her heart. She pulled her finger over the mark with care. As if the wound would reopen if she pressed too hard; releasing everything she tried so desperately to hold back. She withdrew her hand from its mindless task and wiped the tears from her eyes. She exhaled a shaky breath, ripping her from the trance like state that had taken over her person.

The patter of the shower was inviting, and she hastily stepped into its scalding embrace. The burn numbed her thoughts, chasing away the residual feelings that muddled in her brain. She could afford to waste time, so she stood there for what seemed like hours, letting the water beat a rhythm into her body. When emerged from the shower, she did so regretfully, toweling off her dark hair and donning a robe.

She retreated to the kitchen. Manila folders marked with the SHIELD logo waited for her on the kitchen table. She leafed loosely through them, letting her eyes graze over the images and text. Andy had read through all their files, several times in fact. She had studied every aspect, researched each character trait. Each of the Avengers had troubled pasts at some point; most had family issues, trust issues. It was hard to build a strong team on lack of trust, let alone a team that was supposed to protect the world. This was her purpose, to make sure that this team was stable; to make sure their destructive behaviors were limited to evil and aliens and not their own psyche.

Fury had made sure she was ready, sent her off to a psychiatric college to keep her busy and out of trouble. She smiled when as the memory came to her. She was better than most at her job for a reason. She had an advantage where most did not. Andy had the ability to peak into places that were normally private; she could see people's thoughts, emotion, and feelings. Everyone's mind resembled a house; this way a person's thought could be organized, not thrown at her all at once. Each person had their own house locked to all others, Andy however had a master key, and had yet to find a lock that it could not unlock.

After hours of gathering her thoughts and a cup of lemon tea, Andy slipped into one of her best dress suits. She ran her fingers through her slightly damp hair and pulled it back into a bun. She smoothed the fabric against her skin, removing any wrinkles that appeared. Glancing in the mirror, she added just a swipe of crimson lipstick to her lips, before pulling on a pair of pumps and heading out the door.

* * *

Bruce Banner paced at the fore of his bed, his mind clouded with the haunting memories of his past. His mind ran through the familiar list of names of those killed and injured through his inability to control the monster within his mind, the shadow imbued in his very being. Joining the avengers meant that he willingly let the _other guy_ take control, but at a cost. Innocents always were caught in the crossfire: a young man, an elderly woman, a small family. And Betty.

Betty.

Even two years after her death, the dull ache of her passing hadn't left Bruce. He reached for his wallet on the nightstand. Buried beneath a sleeve of identification cards and passports was a creased photograph of Betty's smiling face. He sat on the edge of his bed and held the photograph between his hands. His throat tightened.

Guilt cascaded over his emotions. _"I couldn't save her. After everything that happened, _he_ won. I lost. Betty lost."_ A high-pitched wail slipped through his throat and his shoulders shook with his dry sobs. His hands curled into fists, wrinkling the picture at familiar creases.

After a time, he stood and folded the photo. He moved as if to place the photo back into his wallet, but paused. He breathed deeply from his diaphragm. "I need to let her go." He knelt, opened the bottom drawer of his chest of drawers, and slid the photograph under the neatly folded stack of little-used, more formal clothes. He closed the drawer with a sigh. Even the simple act seemed to weigh heavily on his shoulders. "It has to be done," he told himself. "I need to move on."

He sighed again, then made preparations for the day.

* * *

She sat to the right of the Fury, facing the wall with the door. A mug of tea pulled to her lips, concealing her slight smile. Fury was fuming at Tony; he had called declaring that he would be late.

"Damn Stark, wouldn't even be on time to save the world." He grumbled, the rest of the thought lost under her breath, more obscenities surely followed in his thoughts. She checked. They did.

Her hands absorbed the heat from the warm ceramic; she greedily inhaled the calming vapors as a tall blond entered the room.

She was not surprised when none other than Captain America was the first to make an appearance. Steve Rogers promptly took the seat across from her, but not before greeting Andy with a warm smile and a nod of the head. The captain made no attempt to make a conversation, so she effectively used the time to peak into the windows of the house that was Steve's mind. She was careful to avoid eye contact, choosing to look at the wall just behind the broad shouldered man. Steve's house was a small modest home, surrounded by a white picket fence. "The American Dream", she smiled at the reference. She peaked in windows, just as a curious bystander would. Steve was clueless to the fact that she was now wading through his thoughts, his memories, and his feelings. She caught glimpses of a beautiful brown haired woman and young brown eyed solider, both laced with feelings of regret, longing, and loss. Snippets of the war flooded her senses, gunfire rang out in her consciousness and she flinched. Her stare broken from the wall, she quickly retreated from his memories.

A disheveled man made his way into the room; his apathy toward his appearance was evident. His hair stuck out in odd directions, and light stubble was apparent on his jaw line. His faded tweed jacket had far too many rips and wrinkles to be presentable. Peeking out from under the suit jacket was a frayed purple shirt; of which, the collar was off kilter from the button he had missed. He slumped into his chair and fixed his eyes upon the surface of the table as if it was painful to look at anything else.

An unsettling sensation crawled underneath her skin and static threatened to drown the thoughts from her mind. It was not his appearance alone that put her off: it was his whole being. The grass that wrapped around _his_ house was an omen of death, brown and untended for what looked like many decades. The wood siding had rotten off in many places and what good pieces that were left clung desperately to the side of the structure. The entrance was marked with a door that had broken down so many times that it hasn't been bothered to be replaced. Cracked ever so slightly, the shadows called here to take steps closer, to enter the broken house.

"Let's get down to business." Fury's stern voice brought her to realization that another had slipped into the room. The fire-haired woman had taken the seat farthest away, giving her the best vantage point of the area. The room was absent of two members of the team, one was expected to be late, but the other was to be here by now. She questioned if Fury had intentionally left out the second member but her question was answered by a voice that came from behind her.

"To defeat the Huns," Clint cracked.

An awkward giggle escaped her throat which was further emphasized by the look that formed on the unknowing soldiers face. An unpretentious smile found its way onto Bruce's face, but left as quickly as it appeared. The encounter with the assassin should have been more unsettling, the way he had sneaked behind her without her sensing any emotion.

"Barton." The director silenced the room once more.

"Yeah, yeah, get on with the meeting." He countered.

"You are here because certain stresses have begun to wear down on the team and it is starting to show in your performance as protectors. "

"Wait. And we're having this meeting without Tony here?"

"Mr. Stark will be here shortly, please get off the file cabinets and take a seat." The marksman agilely hopped down and took a seat next to his assassin companion.

"As I was saying. Ya'll are _all kinds_ of messed up, and refuse to acknowledge this fact. So, I have brought in an associate to help with this matter," he gave a nod in Andy's general direction. "You will be meeting with her both individually and as a group. She will observe you in several personal meetings in here office and also at some point shadow you in your daily tasks in Stark Tower." he gestured for Andy to stand.

She pulled the mug from her lips and stood, lightly brushing the wrinkles from her skirt. "Morning everyone," a polite smile emerged upon her lips. "I am Doctor Andrea Asher, and as Director Fury has said, I'm here to …."

* * *

"_Asher." _

The name roared through Bruce's mind like an avalanche. Unbidden, his eyes lifted to see the stranger for the first time. Except she wasn't a stranger. He nearly jumped out of his seat. He knew the face; it haunted his dreams. His nightmares.

"_Asher."_

The surname appeared thrice on his list of casualties: a man, a woman, and their daughter. They were killed a decade ago in a car wreck during a battle with _Him_. He could remember pulling the girl's limp body from the twisted metal in an attempt to save her. He could remember the blood staining her lips.

Her lips were _still_ red.

Still bloodied.

He dug his fingers into his knee. No. A ghost. It was impossible. His heart thudded in his chest. Sweat gathered on his brow. The situation was growing unsafe. Bruce could feel the Other Guy creeping into his consciousness. _"No."_ Bruce's jaw clenched. He had to remove himself from the room, least he put the others in danger.

He made to stand, but firm hands pushed himself back into his seat. "Hey, the life of the party just got here; don't just get up and leave." As he took his seat next to the doctor, in a lower voice so that only Bruce could hear, Tony Stark whispered, "It's all right, buddy. I've gottcha."

The reassuring touch was enough to calm Bruce a bit, but his body remained tense. He focused on his breathing and tried to force his heart rate down, for he could feel the_ Other Guy _creeping into his consciousness-out of the dark-but couldn't focus. All he could see was the blood of her lips against her white teeth as she spoke, but her words never filtered through the blood rushing in his ears—neither did the warning beep of his heart monitor or the concerned words from the other members of his team. His vision began to blur. There was no stopping it, now. The turn was inevitable.

But he could get away, keep the others safe.

He abruptly stood, knocking over the chair. Doctor Banner stumbled to the door, shaking hands fumbling with the handle as he fled. He ran blindly through the corridor, knocking against the walls and pushing past any obstacle. Then he lost control.

An enormous roar echoed through the building, followed by the crash of breaking walls and floors. Doctor Asher stood from her seat as the Avengers leaped into action. Tony hefted a red metal briefcase and it moved on its own, unfolding and gripping his body, forming into a full Iron Man suit. Steve, Natasha, and Clint were already springing into action and rushing into the hall. Fury swore through his teeth. The Hulk had wrecked the hall and fallen through the floor to the level below, where the devastation continued. Tony jumped through the opening and barreled off after the green colossus in a streak of red and a fiery blast. Clint, with his ever-present bow and arrows, followed.

The Hulk smashed onward, punching holes through walls and peering through for a moment before moving away from the hole. He continued repeating the action, as if searching for something. He roared again and tore through a wall. Wires sparked as they swung freely from the hastily remolded structure. A broken pipe divulged a torrent of water that spilled onto the floor and flooded the hall. Stark breezed through the opening, but the others were halted by the electrified water.

Barton's voice sounded in Tony's ear, "Stark! Unless you can direct the Hulk and get him back to us, you're on your own." Before he could respond with his usual snarky manner, a large, green fist knocked Tony out of the air. He spun into and through a wall. Drywall dust rained upon the gleaming red metal of the Iron Man suit. Tony pulled himself from the rubble. He looked to his left and saw a huddled group of office workers. Tony motioned for them to hurry onward before the Hulk saw them; there was no telling what he might do if he saw them.

Fury's voice was in his ear, "Tony, what's your location?" JARVIS automatically relayed the information to Director Fury. "Okay. Keep him cornered."

Tony leaped up and tackled the Hulk from behind, wrapping his metal-clad arms around Hulk's neck, "Hey big guy! Calm down!"

* * *

She had followed Fury from the meeting room and into the hall; demolition was the evidence of the hulk's wrath. The Director's gun was drawn, held in his hand with a vice grip, detracting none of his precision with his weapon of choice. Sounds that could only mean pure destruction indicated that the beast hadn't wandered too far from the epicenter of the chaos.

An inhuman bellow pulled their attention to new sink hole that developed not far from the meeting room. Fury gruffly commanded the others through a comm. " Tony—what's your location? Okay, keep him cornered. "

He turned to her, his calm face showed little distress over the situation that had developed. With one glance she sensed what he wanted her to do, but he punctuated the thought with the spoken command. "You'll have to take the stairs down one floor, continue down the hall, stay right, and just follow the noise. Detain him by any means necessary."" She froze, eyes glazed over, she knew she would be asked to do this but so soon? He paused allowing the words to be absorbed by her rigid figure. "Andrea- You know what to do." He gestured with the gun toward the door that held the stairwell. Any retort was caught in her clenched throat, and she jogged to her death like any good solider would.

* * *

Hulk roared. The monstrous representation of a man flung Iron Man from off his muscled, green back. Tony righted himself in the air before crashing into any more walls. "Hey, you need personal space, I get it, but I kind of need this office space, so if you would kindly stop wrecking it . . . no? I didn't think that would work." He tried to distract the Hulk by bludgeoning him with a swing of his metal-clad fist, but the irradiated gargantuan seemed not to notice.

This struck Tony as odd.

The Hulk was staring down the hall in the direction of the far stairway. A feminine figure was opening the door. _Asher._ "You don't want to be in this area, sweet cheeks. Let the grown-ups handle this one." The Hulk started to charge at her. Tony Stark yelled, "GET OUT OF HERE!" He tried to pull the Hulk's attention away from the woman. Even faced with the not-so jolly green giant, Dr. Asher did not flee. Her body trembled, but her steps were sure. Her steps toward the Hulk. She stopped suddenly, her eyes wide, "So dark," she murmured. The Hulk was nearly upon her, his hands stretching to crush her, and no amount of force from Iron Man could stop him. Hulk stooped, and wrapped his arms around Andrea Blythe Asher in what Tony Stark was sure were her last moments.

In one swift, jerked motion Andy was ripped from her feet and cradled. Her face smashed into the hard muscles of the green beast's chest. She struggled which effectively made the Hulk clutch her close with an even greater force. Her body screamed under the strain, the air pushed unnaturally from her lungs. The Hulk looked down to her oxygen-starved face, and soon a large hand, pointer finger extended, came into view. The giant finger probed her visage, anguish and loss seeping into her skin as it traveled across her face, lingering on the crimson stained lips.

"You know what to do" Fury's words echoed through her mind in a moment of clarity. Andrea gasped for breath and with the remaining strength she could muster; she braced herself to enter the disheveled house, following the call of the now deeper, larger shadows. As she walked through the broken threshold, the darkness retreated, ebbed away by the light that was brought with the presence of the intruder.

When her eyes adjusted, she noted a small closet, a thin film of light peaked from under the crack of the door. The sounds of a man's sobs became clearer as she made her way to the curious closet. Andrea pulled open the door, revealing the raggedy man she had seen earlier. His knees were pressed close to his chest, hand visible tearing into his legs. He looked up to her through pathetic, watery orbs, his mouth hung open with . . . was it fear? She volunteered her hand warmly to him, and he looked to it questionably. He was hesitant, considering the offer before he released his legs and placed his large hand into hers. She pulled him to his feet with ease and guided him from the closet.

Before they could exit the house, she was ripped from her train of thought and confronted with her threatened life once again. Her lungs collapsed onto themselves and she passed into a forced unconsciousness. She didn't experience the Hulk shrinking form, or the inevitable passing of the more-than-exhausted man into unconsciousness.

Her limp body was still in the custody of Bruce Banner's arms.

* * *

**A/N: If you made it this far I would like to personally thank you. I would love to hear what you think of the fic! Leave me a message.**~**Kat **


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

* * *

**Thank you to all who decided to follow, and favorite this work! It was really the boost that LAliceS and I needed to get chapter 2 out. Hope you stick around for the rest of the story!**

**As always R&R! Please and Thank You!**

**~Kat**

* * *

xXx

_The woman Asher danced and whirled through Bruce's mind as he slept. She twirled in a white sundress amidst a field of lavender and among a rainbow of butterflies. She frollicked merrily in the sun, though off to the horizon dark clouds billowed, threatening a storm. The thunderheads were only held at bay by Andrea, for she was connected to the sun and the . She was the sun and the warmth. It was her that made the flowers bloom. Without her presence, Bruce knew with the knowledge of dreams that the hillside would be naught but a rubbish heap: a land filled with refuse._

_Lightning struck in the distance, but it was not for a long while that the peal of thunder reached them. A small flock of birds took wing flew between the earth and sun, casting shadows down upon the two doctors below. Andrea laughed and twirled about. She reached to take Bruce's hand. He wavered for a split second, looking at her proffered hand. He moved as if to take her hand, then pulled back a fraction in a brief moment of indecision. Then he stretched out his hand and grasped hers firmly, as if she were his only lifeline._

_She smiled up at him, and for a moment seemed to be the child he had rescued so long ago. Her touch infused him with warmth and comfort as she tugged him along in her scampering through the meadow. He smiled a real, genuine smile of joy. He had not felt this sort of peace for a long time. Years._

Bruce Banner awoke slowly, sliding easily into consciousness from the unremembered dream. He did not question how he ended up in his oversized bed at stark towers. The faint ache of the muscle reminded him of the lives he had threatened the other day. He ran through the list and hoped he wouldn't have to add another. This Asher . . . he wasn't sure he could take her off the list quite so soon.

Yet, for the first time in a long while, he felt _truly _rested upon waking. He stretched, and inhaled a deep lungful of ruffled his unruly crop of hair and looked at the alarm clock. Three in the afternoon. He scrubbed his brown eyes with the heel of his palm, rubbing away the last traces of sleep. He shuffled from his bed to the bathroom adjacent to his room. He quickly showered and toweled himself dry. He looked at his scruffy face through his mirror. As Bruce began to shave, he realized that this was the first time he felt at _home _in this apartment in Stark Tower; it was the first time he thought it as his own.

The feeling of being home was foreign to the raggedy doctor. He never really had a place to call home. From his childhood to his time spent as a fugitive in Mexico, there was always an oppressive element of fear that permeated the walls of his abode. Something had changed, now, for the heaviness had lifted. Something was different, but Bruce could not pinpoint what it was. Trying to think of what it could be was like grasping for a hold of early morning mist.

This made him wary; Bruce _never _felt so healthy and revitalized after a transformation. There was far too much stress upon his body and mind when the _other guy _took control. His stomach growled. _"Thinking of which..."_ The necessary caloric intake of his post-transformation meals was rather exorbitant and his priority now was to fill that need.

He went back into his room and began to get dressed. The chest of drawers containing his clothes was carefully monitored and stocked by JARVIS. All the pants were made of a durable but stretchy material that Tony Stark himself had developed specifically for Bruce. Tony was still unhappy that the pants never quite shrunk back down to the correct size. Not that it mattered. They always ended up torn to shreds at the end of each "incident."

Bruce tried not to think about how each of his garments were disturbingly expensive as he buttoned up his yellow, collared shirt. He left the top two buttons undone, lest he appear too formal for a simple excapade to the communal kitchen area. Both Clint Barton and Tony Stark often teased him about his more formal manner of "casual" dress, but Bruce felt that living in a place like Stark Tower merited such.

Bruce's apartment was at the end of the hall. As he left, he passed by everyone else's living space (Thor's was vacant for the time being). The only door Bruce did not pass on his way to the kitchen was Tony's. The king of the castle had his chambers several floors up-in the penthouse. Bruce knew all the rooms he passed were identical in layout with their large windows and high ceilings. His was the only one with any difference. That divergence was the reinforced metal walls, ceiling, and floor. The thick slabs of solid metal shrank the interior dimensions and removed any form of natural light source. Bruce himself had insisted upon these alterations. Nightmares often brought his heartrate up close to the tipping point, and Dr. Banner felt that it was only a matter of time before a transformation occurred in his sleep.

The kitchen area was down the hall from the apartments. It was spacious, clean, and well-stocked. Once there, Bruce made a beeline for the cupboard with the bread. There were already various loaves that had been opened, but Bruce pulled out two unopened loaves of rye. He opened both of them and began to line up the slices across the marble counter in two identical rows, like a child with toy soldiers. He also opened a fresh jar of mayonnaise. Using a rubber scraper, he proceeded to slather one of the columns of bread with a hearty helping of the condiment. From the refrigerator, Dr. Banner gathered a bag of fresh spinach, several tomatoes, a separate bag of fresh lettuce, and the leftover bacon from breakfast.

After slicing the tomatoes, he placed a slice on each bit of mayonnaise-covered bread as if it were an assembly line. He did the same for the greens and the decadent strips of hog meat. Bruce flipped each blank slice of rye onto its laden neighbor. He relocated each sandwich to a large plate and cleaned up his mess (minimal though it was). He held one sandwich in his mouth and began to carry the rest to the table, when an incredulous feminine voice startled him to make him almost drop his food.

"Are you going to eat _all _of that?"

Muddied brown orbs turned to Andrea with a look that resembled an unsuspecting creature locked in a vehicle's oncoming headlights, coaxing a chuckle from her. The following silence was punctuated by the sandwich slipping from Banner's mouth and onto the platter. The rhetoric dangled limply in the air, for it could easily be inferred that such a devastating force that was the Hulk required tremendous amounts of energy that must be drawn from _some _source.

"Planned on it," he quipped, though a reserved smirk curled his full lips. Silence fell upon the room once more, until the Hulk's appetite reminded them of its presence. Bruce took the cue and strode hastily toward the table, choosing a seat facing away from the rest of the room, effectively diverting away any further attempt of communication. Banner began to devour the first sandwich, though footsteps around the kitchen pricked at his ears. He slowed the pace of his chewing to listen, and hunched his shoulders in an attempt to mask his eavesdropping.

He had started his third BLT when a pitiful hiss of pain came from Andrea (one he knew all too well from his time in Calcutta). Bruce turned his head to peek out of the corner of his eye. She was reaching for a mug on a tall shelf, the hem of her shirt lifted to reveal a morsel of bare skin. It was blotched with darkened marks, but he could make out one that was slightly darker than the rest of the faint marks, one that resembled a large hand. A _huge _hand. A hand that had probably been green. The thought curdled his stomach and made the mouthful of sandwich seem as thick and tasteless as cotton. _"I did that." _The shrill whistle of the kettle seemed to fade as he retreated into himself.

Another thought struck him amidst the guilt. Had he really been in a slumber long enough for the bruises to develop such hues? _"Days. It _had_ to have been days."_ He barely caught the steps that retreated back toward the living chambers. _"What have I missed during my body's forced recuperation?"_

* * *

Stark stalked through his lab, a halo of holographic images appearing at the flick of his fingers. "JARVIS," he said nonchalantly, "initiate weekly hack of all SHIELD files."

"Right away, sir. Are there any extraneous inquiries?"

"I need the file on a Doctor Andrea Asher."

For some reason, Tony was unsurprised when the sound of _error _rang in his ears. JARVIS piped, formal as ever, "I'm sorry sir, but the security features on this file are superstandard. It will take some time to break into."

Tony's eyes narrowed as he stared at the holographic screen. _"What are you trying to hide, Fury?"_

* * *

Andrea briskly walked, warm mug of tea in hand, down the hall and into the makeshift office that had been converted from the absent demi god's room. After reluctant permission from Tony, it did not take much effort for SHIELD to strip the room of the bedroom furnishings and replace them with those of an office; her work space at SHIELD had fallen victim to the massive green beast just days prior. She weaved through two identical, plush chairs that filled the empty space left from the absent bed; making her way toward a broad, mahogany desk.

The chair creaked as it adjusted to Andrea's weight. She shifted uncomfortably, but found that no position that would ease the dull ache that continually washed over her whole frame. She could deal with the pain; she had taken blows far worse. Blows that had almost taken her life. The metal demon that lurked in her subconscious scratched at the thin wall that separated her nightmares and her thoughts. She dismissed its presence by occupying her mind with the more important task at hand. A rather daunting task.

She picked up a sheet of paper notating each team member's typical work schedule. Bruce and Tony preoccupied as much time as possible in the lab, hence had abnormal sleeping habits and rather erratic hours. Natasha and Clint would also be hard to come by as they were regularly sent out on missions that lasted an indeterminate amount of time. Steve, however, awoke promptly at 0500 every morning, adopting the schedule that he had been taught in the military. He became the most logical option.

"Best start with the captain of this dysfunctional vessel," she satisfactorily whispered into the ceramic mug.

* * *

After an invitation from Andrea, Steve Rogers promptly made his way into her office and found himself sitting in one of the plush seats, so close that their knees were nearly touching. Andrea thought this best, the proximity. It made interaction more personal, less distant. His posture, however, remained stiff and straight, just the soldier she expected. This stance was accompanied by a false air of comfortableness, the appearance that he had everything under control; she was not so easily fooled.

Yes, he was a strong commander when it was asked of him. He had the precision to make decisions that dealt with heavy issues. He was by no means daft, as so many assumed. The transition was rough, difficult to overcome at first. _Any _mammal set in a situation so far removed from anything before seen would be dazed for a short while at least (some would even be lost forever) but he eventually righted himself in this new, backwards world. Learn, grow, and apply the newly found knowledge to make it through another day.

The captain was quick on his feet and could provide protection for the people, leadership where chaos resided. The soldier pulled through, but the man inside was hopelessly lost (much like when he had lost Bucky to the icy clutches of Death). The recent event of threatening extraterrestrials hanging in the air had allowed the role of leader to take over, pushing back that man, his memories, and his regrets from past times. The Captain had awaken from the frigid coffin, but Steve was still drowning, still frozen.

It wasn't until_ now_, when things had relatively settled, that the thawing had set in; the woes of the hardened man began to surface. Andrea could see all this in the way that he carried himself, and when she peeked into the windows of his "flawless" home. Perfect on the outside, but held secrets within-imperfections, things the tailored soldier wouldn't dare let creep into the light of common knowledge.

"How are you doing, mixed up with this band of hooligans and all?" she invited Steve into the conversation with an unpretentious smile.

He chuckled lightly, a flash a white peaked out from drawn lips. "They take direction, well-I say _they_. I mean everyone but Tony; even the _Hulk_ knows when to smash on command. Tony is reckless, he wants to be the man that outsmarts them all, a real Wise Guy. That incident with the nuke-," he swallowed gravely, "next time I don't think we will find ourselves so fortunate." He easily changed the mood of the situation. "Yeah, Tony has gotten better though. We are far from the trainwreck we started with and we're starting to work like a well-oiled machine, a team." His outward appearance beamed with the genuine belief, but something inside stirred, unassured.

"That's great! . . . But you kind of missed the question." Confusion soften the features of the man sitting across from her. She leaned forward in her seat, closing the short expanse. She jabbed her pointer finger in his direction, giving the statement emphasis. "How do _you _feel as a member of the team?"

"I would say that I am fairly-"

"Steve, I don't want you to tell me something that you think SHIELD wants to hear. SHIELD wouldn't waste their time and money sending me here if they didn't already know that you had problems," she said frankly, though not unkindly.

The way his smile seemed to fade when she mentioned the past, hinted at something Steve Rogers tried so desperately to hold on to and fight at the same time. In his house, a large, framed photograph took the spotlight on the mantlepiece, at the hearth of the home. Black and white, it showed two young people, a woman and a man, smiling broadly in their WWII attire. People from the past he had lost, either in death or in time.

"Tell me about Peggy and Bucky. From what I've been told they sounded like they were good people."

"Yeah, they were."

"Peggy is still alive."

"I know," his throat was tight.

"Have you tried to contact her in any way?"

He seemed to swirl his answer around his pallet before finally spitting it out, "No." Rogers fidgeted uncomfortably, wringing his hands.

Andy knew that Steve knew what the next question would be, but she asked anyway. "Why not?"

The words he wanted to say, but could not bring himself to do so. This wasn't the first time he'd thought these same, repeated excuses that shot through his mind like angry hornets. _"She wouldn't be the same Peggy I knew. She's grown up, grown old. She has her own family, now. She wouldn't want to see me. Not now. She's far better off without me, happier than if I made an entrance. Peggy mourned and got over me. She certainly doesn't need all of those memories brought to the forefront of her mind."_

She released a lung-full of air, relieving some of the tension in the room. "Steve you have to choose to either let her go, or pursue her. You cannot hang in this limbo for much longer-you'll break under the strain." She added to herself, "_And pull the rest of the team down with you."_

He snapped his eyes toward Andrea, prepared for a fight that would remain only visual. She knew what he needed to hear next. "You couldn't save Bucky from the fall, just like you can't save Peggy from the time that has aged her," the doctor consoled. Steve no longer gave her the courtesy of eye contact, favouring an interesting patch of floor in a moment of grief. "I'm not saying you have to forget them Steve, in fact it's impossible that you could, but you have to leave them in the past. You've got to continue your life and stop trying to live in theirs." He blinked back the tears that flooded his baby blues.

"I know." Two words, it was just two words that finally brought the seemingly untouchable man to his knees. In the home of his soul, Andy watched as Capt. Rogers clutched at the picture tightly, pulling it close to his heart in a warm, though one-sided, embrace. He whispered into the frame, "I know."


	3. Chapter 3

WOOOO! You guys stuck around for this long and continue to humor our half-baked ideas, so have another chapter!

Special thanks to all to follows and favorites that this story has received thus far.

As always

Read & Review

* * *

Chapter Three

xXx

The shadowed council illuminated Stark's computer screen. Their images would occasionally waver as his program bypassed some measure of security. He lounged in his chair, nonchalantly snacking on a box of doughnuts. His bare feet were propped up on his desk, atop piles of various diagrams and blueprints. Nick Fury was speaking, ". . . absolutely essential to the team as a whole-especially after that incident a few days back."

One of the council members, a woman, spoke, "What triggered that accident? Surely it was something that could have been prevented."

Fury visibly bristled at that comment, but his voice remained level, "I don't know what triggered Banner's episode, but I am looking into it, I assure you."

Tony licked his fingers and reached into the box for another doughnut as a different council member, also a woman, piped, "Using the Asher woman as your tool in doing so."

It was not a question, but Director Fury nodded.

"She is too dangerous," one of the male members growled, and others nodded assent.

The second woman scoffed. "They are all 'too dangerous,' that's why Doctor Asher is there in the first place." Council members muttered agreement.

The man argued, "Had she been working with the team a year ago-"

"If there had been a team a year ago," Fury said under his breath, barely audible.

"-and if Loki had possessed her just as he did Barton, there would have been very little anyone could do to stop him. To stop her."

Fury's brow furrowed, "That's a mighty lot of 'ifs' for something that will never be repeated."

"How can you be so sure?" the first woman demanded.

"Both Loki and the Tesseract are gone-taken and locked away in the bowels of Asgard. The chances of his escape are highly unlikely."

"Highly?"

"Damn near impossible, and his ability to get to us, here on Earth, is impossible."

The first woman began to make a point, but Tony's screen suddenly flipped to a familiar, balding face.. "Mister Stark," the agent said, "You should not be eavesdropping upon a council meeting. Director Fury will fill the team in with the necessary information."

"Agent Coulson," Tony said flippantly waving half a glazed ring in greeting, "must you ruin a man's cable? It was just getting to my favorite part."

"You should be improving SHIELD's security measures, rather than boring through them. If I ever catch you spying again-"

"I know, I know. You'll taze me and watch-what was it? Supper Nanny-as I drool into the carpet."

"Good. Then we have an understanding." The screen changed to black.

Stark sighed and looked at the mostly-full box of doughnuts in his lap. "I wonder if Steve is hungry."

Clint reclined in Andrea's office at the appointed time. He slouched in the chair facing a trash-can containing crumpled pieces of paper. His feet rested idly on the opposing seat; a stack of paper rested on his toned stomach. He balled the one of the documents in his hands and tossed it into the bin. Too easy. His eyes glazed over the room for a challenge. He carefully began to fold one of the sheets into a pristine and complicated paper airplane. He took aim and tossed it. The paper aircraft looped twice through the air on it's way to the bin, when the office door opened, and gust of air slightly redirected the path of the vessel. It hit the rim, rather than diving into the trash receptacle. "Aw, come on! I totally HAD that."

She looked at the discarded paper disapprovingly, "You do realize that I have to buy my own printing paper."

"Sorry. SHIELD, it would be like them to penny pinch, isn't it? You'd think that if they can fund extraneous weapons that they would be able to spare a few cents for office supplies. You know there was this one time, I was stationed in the North Atlantic- or was it the white front?" He scooted back into the seat, dropping his heavy boots to the floor, and hunched over in thought. "Anyway, it doesn't matter where I was, you just need to know that it was FREEZING. I almost lost a couple toes to frostbite; they turned the coolest shade of purple. Does SHIELD send extra socks or a space heater? No. 'Buy your own,' they said. Great. Because there's just lots of shopping malls in the middle of a freaking ice cap!"

Andrea had pulled out a notepad from her desk and found her place facing across from the skilled archer. She began to scribble furiously in a rough shorthand, though never taking her eyes away from Barton's face. He paused in his ranting only for a moment and she took the opportunity to intercept the conversation, "So you would say that you feel a little animosity toward working for SHIELD?"

"Nah, nothing like that. I'd just like a pair of warm, fuzzy socks now and then." In her mind's eye, Andy saw him perched in his tree house, completely at home, even under her open scrutinization. He wasn't lying, but he wasn't really telling the whole truth, either. It almost felt like he was hinting at something-reaching for some end even he couldn't see. It made her think about the extent of the training he had been through.

"So yeah, you want me to talk about my feelings or something, right?"

"Actually," she asked of him like it was any other favor, "I would like you to tell me about your time under the influence of Loki's scepter."

"Oh." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, chin resting thoughtfully on his intertwining fingers. "There's..." he licked his lips, "there isn't really much to tell." A cyan hue flooded his mind, almost blinding. His fragmented memory of the event felt familiar to Andrea. For a moment, she couldn't quite put her finger on why, but then it struck her.

It was almost exactly the same as when she had witnessed Bruce Banner losing control to the Other Guy. The Hulk.

She was stirred from her reverie when she noticed that Barton was looking at her expectantly. "It's okay," she said. "You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to."

"It's not that I don't want to," a lie only Andy could ever detect. "It's just I forgot most of it when my head was rudely slammed against a metal pipe by Tasha." An airy glow drifted into his perch with the mention of her name. He relaxed back into the warmth of the thought.

Clint was much more open than the others. He showed his affections for the others in the time he spent explaining each detail of their shenanigans. "When I first saw Dr. Banner riding up on that scooter, I didn't know what to think. I wondered if we'd really gotten so low that we'd recruit the help of random hobos. And then BAM! suddenly, he's a giant, green wrecking machine! I would've spent more time freaking out if, y'know, there weren't aliens to fight." Such was the rest of the meeting. The time quickly wore away, and almost before she knew it, their time was at an end.

Andrea ushered Clint out, following him to the threshold. The Black Widow, leaned against the wall opposing the office, awaited the exchange with her male counterpart . He started toward her, and, as he passed, gave her a meaningful look which Andrea couldn't decipher. At least, not without her gift. She had already seen his feelings for Natasha when she peeked into his mind. Rather than peering into his inner working once more, she slipped into the outer fringe of the other's as the archer left them. She was as guarded on the within as she was without. Her mind was not calm, however cool she appeared to be. Her thoughts reeled, taking in every detail and quickly processing its importance. As for her thoughts of Andrea, Natasha's primary response was suspicion. As expected.

The psychologist was met with a towering concrete wall-or rather walls-adorned with barbed wire and alarm systems, squared off to form a seemingly impregnable and imposing fortress. As she looked for an entrance, the assassin walked determinedly into the office, past the doctor's prying eyes and toward the seat in which the interviewer would sit. Andrea sighed, but decided to go along with whatever game Natasha was playing.

"I am not your enemy."

Natasha crossed her arms and tightened security. The phrase offered none of the comfort that she had tried to convey. "A different approach, then."

"I am not going to pretend to be your friend either." A single word had stuck a chord, a faint wisp of memory. Friend. Andrea stood once more in front of the stark, concrete fortress. Children's laughter wafted lightly toward her. She followed their calls to a door with a reinforced window. Inside, a girl with short, flaming locks wore a smile of pure joy. She pulled her small hands to her face, shielding her eyes. The faceless children that surrounded her scattered, giggling as if they were drunk on happiness. "3." She counted slowly, overcoming the temptation to peek through her fingers. "2." Her feet fidgeted, weight shifting side to side as she swayed with anticipation of the chase. "1."

The words tickled her tongue, "Ready or not, here I come."

Her fingers slid down her pale face. She peered past the tips and upon a crowded laughter had long faded away. A rubicund hue distorted the view. She slipped into the juncture, weaving easily through the masses. The young woman searched for her mark, scanned the faces carefully. When a familiar profile caught her eye, she pushed forward toward him. In her haste she had accidentally alerted the dark haired man to her presence. He bolted for a shrouded alleyway, knocking several of the people to the dusty ground, leaving their cries of fear in his wake. She carefully maneuvered through the fallen citizens, toward the shadowed path that her prey had slipped into. She chased him through the cobbled path, but before she caught up to him he vanished into thin air; A morning fog dispersed away by the sun. She had never lost a target . . .

Suddenly, the memory shifted to another narrow corridor of thought. An animalistic roar was projected from behind. She chanced a glance at the monster tailing her, the monster that made those impossibly sonorous growls. The padding of her feet not longer gave the dull sound of stone-sole contact, retaining metallic clinks as she raced across the narrow catwalk. She pulled her weight artfully over a nearby handrail, swinging into the darkness below. Hidden from view, she concealed herself from the eyes of the beast. His footsteps echoed above, a low-gravelly growl escaped his dissatisfied mouth.

Ready or not, here I come.

The monstrosity found her hiding place, bellowing a roar in her direction. She ran from her pseudo safe place, away from the exploding glass and sparks. When the end of the runway neared she tried her best to jump to safety, unsuccessful in the act, being slammed through the air by a giant appendage. When she was sure that she was done for, the thunder god had knocked the towering giant through a wall, pulling himself with it. She pulled her bruised body to the nearest crevasse, wedging herself between two cooling metal walls. She concentrated all her energy on slowing her shaky breath, ignoring the lone tear that rolled off her check.

Once again, Andrea's gaze rested upon the small flame-haired girl. Her eyes aged far beyond that of her body. She no longer giggled joyfully along with the chorus of the other children's laughter, their presence long forgotten. Nor did her feet dance with the anticipation of the chase. She used to love games, even playing with the toys. She sat in her carefully crafted fortress, back lying flush with one of the concrete walls. She gazed upon the discarded toys scattered at her feet.

"Be my friend? Why should you?" She questioned Andrea as the playthings faded from her peripherie. "Love is for children."

* * *

Doctor Banner, the last interviewee of the day, sat before Doctor Asher. His hands were gripping the armrests as if they were a lifeline, and a slight frown tugged his features. His eyes were trained downward. A whimsical line from some sort of jingle played on repeat in his head. It was rather maddening, but Andrea ignored it with grace. Andrea didn't think Banner would open up on his own, so she started with an innocent opener, "You seem to have taken well to working with Stark in the lab."

"Yes."

She waited for him to continue, but when the silence began to grow awkward, Andrea spoke again. "Do you like living here in Stark tower?"

"Yes."

That jingle was in the forefront of his mind, and barred any of Andrea's attempts to delve into his mind. Frustrated, she continued, "And do you feel as though you have made it your home?"

A flash of a curly-haired child slipped past the wall the tune had made in Banner's head. The child was running away from darkness; the shadowed monster growled as big, meaty hands gripped at his light green overalls. Andrea tripped through the maze that had formed in the doctor's head, the tune added a corrupt aspect to the chase as she observed. The little boy twisted through the corridors, the roars drowned his shrieks of fear, it wasn't as if there were others around to hear. Tears blurred his vision, "No one will help me this time."

The clever lad dodged down a dark hall, a hall that lead to a room completely absent of light. He could hide from the beast here, "Maybe I could get away." The thought was interrupted when his foot caught on a discarded item left in the ill-lit room. His hands shot out in front to catch himself from the collision with what he expected to be the floor. His hands, along with his upper torso were drenched in a warm, thick liquid; his feet and knees still caught and propped up on the item that had caused his spill. He scrambled to his knees and away from it, grasping at the walls for a switch.

With a click, one lonely, naked light bulb flickered on, and in the dim light he looked down at his hands and his clothes. They were covered with a florid liquid. The broken body that lay crumpled in front of the boy no longer had a face, but the familiar auburn hair told him what he feared most; the monster had taken the only one left who loved him. A shriek left his throat. He stifled the noise with his bloodied hands, lest he be heard. The boy had forgotten what he was running from. Alerted, the beast's snarls emanated from the threshold-from the only exit.

His only escape was to a shadowed corner of the room, where he pulled his knees to his chest in a tight ball and hoped that the encroaching figure would pass, leaving him untouched. The footfalls stopped. In the split moment that the child peeked through his shielding arms to see what was happening, a large, hammer-like fist came down upon his body.

Bruce swallowed, "I suppose."

Andrea blinked. Doctor Banner sat calmly as she breathed a shuddering sigh. How deep had she delved in her attempt to bypass a simple, interrupting thought? Too far. Much too far. That memory had been shoved into the deepest reaches of Banner's mind, the "basement." Andrea mentally shook herself and surreptitiously glanced at her watch. Three minutes down, fifty seven yet to go. "Would you care to elaborate on that?"

He shrugged, "Yes."

"We do have an hour of time to fill for this meeting, Doctor Banner."

"I know."

"Right. So. Tell me about..." She paused, "your childhood? No. Let's not go there again," she thought. "...tell me about your work with SHIELD."

"It's-confidential."

"So is this therapy session."

An upward curl tugged at the corners of his mouth, but he remained rather tight-lipped. "Who knows? You could be spying for SHIELD to make sure we keep our work secret."

"Paranoid, are you, doctor?" she teased.

"I had to be-to survive abroad."

"Tell me about that, then."

"No." Then, softer, "I'd rather not."

"Banner, we-you-have to talk about something," Andrea said firmly, but not unkindly. "Anything you can talk at length about is more useful to you and to SHIELD than what you're giving me now."

"What would you have me talk about?"

"Why don't you tell be about Betty Ross?"

"NO!" he gasped in astonishment. "I...no. Anything but that." He added, "It's only been a year," at the same time Asher said, "It's already been a year."

The awkward silence between them was almost palpable. "I'm sorry," Andrea finally said. "I didn't mean to be insensitive."

He bobbed his head once, "I know you didn't."

Doctor Asher looked down at her clipboard, or rather, at the blankness of the form upon its surface. She sighed, "Doctor Banner, if you're going to be so terse, you might as well go now and save both of us the rest of the hour." Bruce nodded as he stood. She got to her feet as well. She extended her right hand formally, and he hesitated for a moment before quickly shaking her hand. As Bruce left, she thought to herself, "I already have more than I need, anyway." The memory was vividly burned into her own mind; Andrea would not soon forget.


End file.
